


Programming Error

by mcschnuggles



Series: Activating Regression Protocol [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Caregiver!Squip, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play, Regressing!Jeremy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcschnuggles/pseuds/mcschnuggles
Summary: The Squip was supposed to help Jeremy with his existing problems, not make more. He's now having trouble processing his emotions, but the Squip has a solution.





	Programming Error

            “There has been a… complication.”

            Call Jeremy crazy, but that’s not the first thing he wants to hear after finishing his history homework. “What?”

            “It’s nothing significant.” The Squip assures him. “There seems to be a… programming error with my internal processor.”

            Way to keep it vague. “What does that even mean?”

            “Essentially, it means that my processor may be interfering with some neural networks in your brain and preventing the proper stress relief through traditional means. It also means that your neurotransmitters have been further imbalanced, causing an uptick in your already prevalent anxiety.”

            “ _What?_ ” Jeremy’s history book falls by the wayside and his voice shoots up into a squeak. “I thought you were supposed to be _helping_ me, not making things worse!”

            “You won’t be doing this without my guidance,” the Squip points out. He gets closer, peering into Jeremy’s face. “Though this is entirely new territory for me as well.”

            Jeremy cringes back, suddenly becoming aware of the tears stinging his eyes, which he doesn’t understand. He’d been fine all day, so why is that the Squip even bringing the possibility up make his chest feel like it’s about to explode? Jeremy feels a pinch in the back of his head and immediately feels his heart rate slow down.

            The Squip continues, “I’ve been doing some research, and although my AI has had some trouble adapting, I believe that the best coping method would be a form of age regression.”

            Jeremy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could someone whose sole purpose was to make him cool suggest something so inherently _lame_? Like, honestly! He knew enough about age regression to know about the weird kink side. And if that wasn’t enough, just the idea of being a whimpering toddler was enough to damage his already fragile self-esteem. If anyone found out that he spent his free time acting like a little kid to destress, there went his reputation! After something like that, he’d doubt even Michael would want to hang around him.

            “There is no way I’m doing that.” Jeremy decided, folding his arms to cover up the tremble in his hands. Why were his hands even shaking? He wasn’t even stressed.

            The Squip merely cocked a brow. “That wasn’t a suggestion. In fact, your brain’s already trying to regress to a more carefree state, whether you like it or not.”

            “But why?”

            “Probably because you’ve been suppressing all your stress.”

            Jeremy’s face heats up. “Because you told me to! You said it would help me be cool and now there are freaky side effects all of the sudden? What kind of Squip are you?”

            The Squip holds up his hands in an attempt to placate Jeremy. “Now, Jeremy, there’s no need to be upset. This is a programming error combined with circumstance. Neither of us could’ve known that this would happen, and I apologize for the mistake. However, your anger is only escalating the situation.”

            “I don’t care!” Jeremy snaps. He pops to his feet, his voice reverberating through the empty house. “This is crazy! This is stupid!”

            The Squip hums and begins keying in some data. “There’s the temper tantrum, as anticipated.” He has this annoying grin on his face, like Jeremy’s being cute with what basically amounts to a crisis in his eyes.

            Jeremy scowls, halfway at the Squip’s attitude but mostly for the sudden feeling of helplessness he’s experiencing. It’s like he’s been shoved underwater, and sights and sounds are distorted and weird and try as he might, he knows that his reactions are _wrong_. It’s like the Squip—hell, the world—is conspiring against him so that he looks like an idiot. It only adds to his frustration, building and building and building until…

            Jeremy bursts into tears. “What did you _do-o-o_?” Jeremy sobs.

            “Why, Jeremy, I didn’t do anything.” The Squip still has that smile on his face, though. Like he thinks that this is _cute_.

            Jeremy falls back down on his bed, sullenly tucking his knees to his chest. “How come I don’t believe you, then?”

            The Squip joins him, and suddenly Jeremy’s back feels warm, as if someone’s holding him. “I have no idea. You know I have to administer some sort of shock to activate your tear ducts. You would have felt it if I did. I’m accessing your nervous system now to give you the illusion of being held. Apparently babies like that.”

            Jeremy lifts his head to scowl. “I am _not_ a baby.”

            The Squip nods and goes back to his databases. “Apparently brave big kids like that,” he corrects himself, and if Jeremy weren’t still sniffling and feeling very, very small, he would’ve gone and beat his head off the wall about five minutes ago.

            Though the hand on his back does feel nice. He wishes someone real would touch him like that. Like Christine. Well, maybe not Christine. He could only imagine how freaked out she’d be if she saw him like this, and it’s only getting worse. He can already feel himself slipping under, feeling less argumentative, feeling the need to be held with a desperation that makes his chest hurt worse than it already does.

            Jeremy slouches, pleased to feel the warm touch follow him. “I feel like an idiot.” He’s sure that from the outside, he probably didn’t look like much more than the usual angsty teen crying in his bedroom and that no one would think anything of it if they were to catch him, but somehow he imagines everything as being so much worse. Like if someone were to barge in, as if they would someone tell he felt like a little kid and even worse, that he didn’t quite hate it. It comes with a weird sense of peace of mind, and he hates to admit that he does feel quite a bit calmer already. The crying really helped get things out of his system.

            “Oh, hush,” the Squip murmurs. “No need to be so fussy. Try coloring. I’ve found it to be a simple but relaxing activity.”

            “But I don’t…” Jeremy’s cut off by the sound of his printer. “Oh.” He watches as coloring page after coloring page comes out of his printer.

            “You have an old set of crayons in the bottom drawer of your desk, underneath about two full years’ worth of school assignments.”

            Jeremy sits there, biting his lip. There’s really no explaining that away, though. What if his dad comes home? He really has no qualms about privacy, so Jeremy could see him barging in and ruining everything. Judging by his already-hitching breath, Jeremy knows he wouldn’t be able to explain himself without bursting into tears.

            A new, heavier warmth comes to settle on his shoulder. “It’s alright,” the Squip encourages, his voice infinitely softer. “No one’s here to judge you. It’s okay.”

            Jeremy glances back at him. There’s no trace of malice in his eyes, but Jeremy still isn’t sure. Can it really be okay? Like, what part of a teenager coloring could ever be acceptable? Even if he does feel tiny and weepy and exactly what the Squip told him he’d feel like, is that really an excuse? Shouldn’t he just hide in bed until all these feelings go away? Wouldn’t that make it easier for everyone?

            The Squip speaks again, this time in a calmer, more diplomatic tone. “I am keeping full surveillance on the house, so there’s no chance of anyone barging in. Just let yourself relax, Jeremy.”

            Relax. Relax? Jeremy doesn’t remember the last time he got to relax. Between worrying about looking cool and impressing Christine and now this weird glitch in his brain that isn’t letting him process stress the right way anymore. When was the last time he was even able to not stress about things?

            The answer’s right there in front of him. He takes one more glance at the Squip, who gives him a single encouraging nod. Really, what harm would it do to color for five minutes? If that’s what it took to calm his heart rate down and get the Squip off his back.

            “Thank you, Jeremy,” the Squip murmurs as Jeremy shuffles over to his printer and picks up the stack of coloring pages.

            Spiderman!

            Spiderman is his favorite character ever! He used to need everything themed after the superhero. Spiderman bedsheets, Spiderman school supplies, Spiderman birthday parties. He even remembers the time he begged his mother to bake a Spiderman birthday cake…

            “I miss my mom,” he whispers, a fresh set of tears coming to his eyes.

            He sees the shock in the Squip’s eyes, the complete loss he’s at for what to do. God, why did this have to happen to him? His Squip isn’t equipped to handle this.

            The Squip shushes him. “Why don’t you get started on coloring?” he suggests.

            Jeremy supposes that’s the best he can do. He knows the Squip is probably rapidly scanning databanks for advice on what to do, on how to counsel humans who suppressed their grief, but a distraction’s the best he can do for now.

            The Squip hovers over him, a warm, comforting presence as he puts his crayon to paper and begins to scribble.

            It’s amazing how quickly the noise in his head went quiet, leaving him with a silence he doesn’t know what to do with. The picture he’s coloring is one of Spiderman fighting Dr. Octopus, so he lets his mind wander to possible fight scenes, and how Spiderman would probably use his awesome web powers to tangle Dr. Octopus up in his own tentacles and save the day.

            The Squip’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Jeremy, that’s unsanitary.”

            What? Jeremy glances down to see his middle and ring fingers lodged in his mouth and immediately goes red. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing that.

            “You’re quite alright. Though we will have to fetch you a suitable replacement soon.”

            Jeremy tries to ignore what that might imply and shoves his left hand under his leg. He’s in this weird, floaty state where the idea that he’d done something so massively embarrassing can’t even get him worked up, so he goes back to coloring without a fuss. It barely feels like a minute before the Squip catches his attention again.

            “Jeremy?” The Squip’s voice is soft, almost kind. “Your father will be home in approximately ten minutes. Can you be big now?”

            He doesn’t wanna be, though. He wants to keep coloring and maybe watch a movie. Jeremy’s eyes stray back to his picture. He’s not even halfway done yet.

            “I see. How about a little nap, then?

            Admittedly, he could go for a nap. He’s been staying up later than usual, either hanging out with Brooke or Michael, so he hasn’t been getting as much sleep as usual. He usually tried to ignore it, but right now, that seems impossible.

            “Let’s get you to bed, then.” The Squip decides.

            Jeremy barely feels in control of his own body as he stands and shuffles over to his bed. He knows the Squip must be taking control to some degree, which is probably only working because Jeremy isn’t even fighting it. He collapses into bed and pulls the covers up to his shoulders.

            It’s gross and embarrassing, but he finds himself unable to keep himself from slipping his fingertips in between his lips. The weight on his tongue almost sends him to sleep in an instant.

            “Jeremy,” the Squip chides, but Jeremy’s too tired to listen. His eyes slip shut, and the world immediately fades away.

            The Squip sighs. “Sweet dreams, Jeremy.”

**Author's Note:**

> mcschnuggles.tumblr.com


End file.
